Cole's Redemption (Love Amongst the Pines) (8 page)

             
"Well, they
ain't
pretty. I guess maybe I've seen worse.

             
Cole chuckled. "Yes, but did the fellow live afterwards."

             
"I recollect he was messed up a fair piece." She smiled, hesitating. "I think you'll be all right. I'm sorry about how it happened."

             
"I suppose it's no worse than a hanging, huh?"

             
"Since I haven't had the pleasure I would think you're probably right about that."

             
At that moment, the door burst open and a disheveled Dermott came rushing through it.

             
"Natty, get your shot and rifle honey! Lester
Biggins
is
comin
', and he's madder than a hornet's nest on the Fourth of July!"

             
It was after midnight when the stagecoach pulled into
Cowcreek
station. Just over the border into Iowa, the place was little more than a watering hole and a privy. Miriam stepped down from the carriage. She had only fifteen minutes to relieve herself, stretch her legs, and get a cool drink of water from the well.

             
As Miriam stood craning her neck upwards, a shadow fell across her. She turned abruptly into a solid wall of male chest.

             
"Pardon me, Ma'am,' a Texas drawl spoke over her, "I didn't mean to startle you."

             
Stepping back, Miriam took in the mountain of a man. He wore a polite grin, framed by a full gray beard and mustache. Though he was aged in his early fifties, he had the wide, muscular frame of a much younger man.

             
"That's all right, sir. I wasn't paying attention. You weren't on our coach, do you live around here?"

             
"No, Ma'am, I've got a spread down in North Texas. I just rode up so I could catch a ride out west. I've got some business to attend to."

             
At his last statement, the stranger's face darkened slightly in the moonlight. For the briefest of moments, Miriam could have sworn his eyes had turned red, the dark color of fire and brimstone. In less than a second, his expression softened.

             
"I am happy to share the trip with so lovely a lady, Ma'am. My name's Wesley Greene. I hope we can pass a pleasurable time together."

             
"As do I, Mr. Greene," Miriam stated with less conviction than she felt. "I fear I will not be good company as I have already been on this trip for several weeks. My temper is running shorter every second."

             
"Then, I shall endeavor extra hard to not ruffle your feathers."

             
"I'm sure you shall try." For a moment, Miriam hesitated. She carefully placed her hand forward, reminding herself that this was the wild frontier not the civilized city. Every ally she could make would be an asset. One never knew when, or in what form, disaster might strike. "My name is Miriam
Remmington
. I'm recently widowed, so I've decided to join my son out west."

             
"Isn't that a
coincidence!
I'm headed in the same direction. I lost my wife several years ago, and my son has passed on recently, as well. I fear I am still grieving his loss. Forgive me if my demeanor turns sour from time to time."

             
"There is nothing to forgive. Being a mother, I understand perfectly how much we treasure our children. Please accept my condolences on your loss."

             
"I thank you mightily, Mrs.
Remmington
. I pray that you find your offspring in good health."

             
Miriam nodded. "Thank you, sir."

             
"If you'll excuse me, I've got to load up my luggage." With that he tipped his wide brimmed hat, and turned towards the pile of rich, leather baggage. On top of the stack was a long, cloth bound rifle. He turned back and gave Miriam a sly smile. She nodded quietly and turned her attention to her traveling companion just emerging from the bushes.

             
"Ah, this place is the worst I've ever been, Mrs.
Remmington
. I swear; I have thorns stuck to all of my petticoats."

             
"Well, you shouldn't have wandered so far out into the wilds,
Melly
. It's not safe for a woman out here, you know."

             
"I couldn't do my business so close to so many strangers! I'd just die of embarrassment if anyone was to know."

             
"My dear, those are normal, body functions. It's not polite to talk about such things, but having to attend to them is common to us all."

             
"Yes, Ma'am."
Melly
stooped to work out the wrinkles in her gingham skirt. "Who is that man over there?"

             
"He's a Texan who's going to be traveling with us into the Dakotas. Seems a bit gruff, but not too bad, a bit odd though his manners were cordial enough."

             
Melly
shook her head. "I don't know, Ma'am. There's something about him I can't quite fathom. Something not right, threatening almost."

             
Miriam shivered again. "Don't be silly. You've only just seen him once. How can you say such a thing?"

             
"I have the sight, Ma'am. Since I was a little girl, I could discern people for what they are. I'm hardly ever wrong." She nodded, "and I'd say that one there is a bad one if I were to put my money on it."

             
"Well, we're just going to have to depend on our wits to keep us safe. I've got a lady's pistol in my reticule. If he advances, I'll shoot him where it'll do the most damage."

             
Melly
shrugged, "With that little thing? Pardon my saying so, but I imagine to a bear of a man like him, that would be nothing more than a bee sting. I fear we will have to have a canon to take that one down."

             
After boarding the coach, Miriam pulled out her bag to check the security of her weapon. All was well, or so it seemed at first glance.

             
"That's odd," she whispered as the stage began to pick up speed.

             
Melly
leaned closer, "What?"

             
"The posting about Cole! It's gone. I must have dropped it at the last stop!"

             
Suddenly, her gaze lifted to Mr. Greene's huge form that took up nearly half the entire seat across from them. His attention was pinned on the darkened countryside outside of the coach window. If he'd heard them speaking, he didn't act like it.

             
"Either that, or it was stolen!"
Melly
whispered beside her.

             
Miriam was about to argue, but the form across from her shifted slightly. Though she knew she was likely imagining it, the man's expression changed. To her surprise, he was smiling but not the warm one he'd shown her earlier. Instead, it was a thin, devilish expression that caused a chill run up her spine.

             
"Hurry it up girl! Lester's got a load of buckshot, and he's
headin
' this way!"

             
Frantically, Natty ran to the gun cabinet and threw open the battered doors. Inside, there were only two things visible, a snub nosed pistol laying dusty and unused on the top shelf, and single shot rifle that looked to be older than Natty herself. As she pulled it out of the gun rack, a loud burst of gunshot exploded to the front of the cabin. Answering the rifle's call, the only window in the place exploded, raining a glass and dust storm down on Cole.

             
"What the hell?" He shouted just before another round fired, this time hitting the wall just five feet from his cot.

             
"All we got is this old front loader!" She called back to him. "And, we don't have any lead for it." She added, rummaging through the bottom of the cabinet. Panicked, she looked over to the corner where Uncle Dermott sat crouching, pale and shaking.

             
"
Derm
, what happened to the shells?"

             
"I
dunno
! I might have taken them out to polish them, but like as not, I jest forgot where I put '
em
."

             
Another shot sounded. This time the bullet shot through the now open window, and planted itself in the fireplace across the room.

             
"He's going to kill us all," Cole shouted.

             
"He's
gonna
try," Natty called back. "Damn, he wasn't this mad last summer when Uncle Dermott put horse manure in all of his rain barrels."

             
Instead of taking cover, as any wise man might do, Cole stood up.

             
"Help me wrap this blanket around my shoulder," he ordered.

             
"Why?" Natalie asked him. Another round exploded. It sounded like it hit a tree near the cabin.

             
"I'm going to put a stop to this. I don't mind being hung for my own crimes, but when someone rides up, and finds us all
dead,
they're going to think I started it. I'm of a mind to make whoever is holding that rifle long regret he ever picked it up."

             
"But, we
ain't
got no ammunition!"
Derm
called out from his corner.

             
"No. But we've got something better. Natalie, just slip that rifle under my arm, so the blanket covers it."

             
She did as he asked, her stomach sinking. "You're
gonna
get yourself killed,
sneakin
' up on a man like that. And, Lester's about two cards shy of a full deck, you know."

             
He stopped short a minute, looking at her with an odd expression. "I've just realized something."

             
"What's that?"

             
"I'm not ready to die yet, after all." With that, he leaned forward and planted a kiss square on her lips.

             
Instantly, a shock ran through Natty clear to her stockings! No man had ever kissed her, save her Pa and uncle Dermott, and then it was just a peck on the cheek. But this, this was certainly different. His lips were warm on hers, like a match lighting kindling. Before she knew what was happening, he was using his tongue to pry open her mouth, and quick as silver slipped it inside. After barely caressing the tip of her tongue, his touch was gone, and a cold breeze in its place.

             
"Cinnamon. He tastes like cinnamon," she whispered in a breathless sigh.

             
She came back to herself in time to see him retreating towards the back door. Before disappearing, he turned at the last.

             
"Just a kiss for good luck." He smiled broadly, and with a wink, was gone.

             
Judge Cummings, or just plain Judge, as
he was known to his friends and neighbors
, rode his favorite dapple gelding through the glorious Saturday morning. He sighed as the horse picked its way up the narrow path that lead through the Black Hills. With the gold rush ten years before, people were settling the area faster and faster. Of course for the local folk, it meant a boon of retail sales. 'Mining the miners,' it was called.

             
Unfortunately, for a man that respected the land more than most, it also meant his glorious countryside was going to suffer. Even now, deep ruts cut through the paths from overloaded wagon wheels.
People just seeking their fortune.
Soon, his small county would overflow, and there would be little peace to be found. Most of the west would be going that way, and he mourned its passing.

             
"I'm glad you didn't live to see it all change,
Tildy
." He spoke to his memory of his late wife. "With any luck, neither will I."

             
In the five years since the fever took hold of his childhood sweetheart, Judge had adjusted to living life alone. On gentle mornings like this, he missed her most--her sweet voice, her quiet presence, and the calm reassurance that life was still a wonderful thing. He sorely missed the time where people didn't grow old, children didn't die, and men weren't left to live out their remaining years pining for something they could never have again.

             
Pushing the animal into the chilly creek water, Judge watched the turrets passing by him. This knee deep little mud bank flooded dangerously high when the summer rains came. When the snow fell in winter, a horse could barely navigate its length, let alone a man. It was fall now, that quiet time between tumultuous seasons when nature rested her ill temper to allow an occasional visitor into the mountainous sanctuary.

             
As he rounded the corner to the road that led up to
Natty's
place, he saw a disturbance just getting underway. He could make out the bulbous form of Lester
Biggins
crawling up the hillside, chasing after
Natty's
uncle. Just as Dermott made the front door of the Lane shack,
Biggins
' got a clean shot off his rifle.

             
From where he sat, it was too far a distance to shoot with any accuracy, and
all the
Judge carried was his snake pistol, anyways. Not wanting to raise a ruckus, and thereby get himself shot, he jumped off of his mount and began the steep climb up the hillside. Furiously cussing and reloading,
Biggins
kept up his attack, first breaking a window, and then hitting a nearby tree.

             
As he came within ten feet of the melee, a wondrous thing met his eyes. Deciding to see how things played out, the Judge sat back on his heels to wait.

             
Just beyond the clearing to his left, a lone figure crept out. Barefoot, wearing only under drawers and a blanket thrown around his shoulders came a stealthy Cole
Remmington
.

             
"Well, I'll be damned," Judge muttered in amazement when he saw the young outlaw carried a rifle under one arm. Surely,

with
the damage to his hands he was in no shape to fire it! So, that meant only one thing.

             
"He's bluffing!" Judge chuckled. "Son, I hope that old varmint doesn't call your hand," he whispered, relaxing slightly but ready to jump in should the need arise.

             
Cole grimaced as a trickle of sweat ran down the back of his

neck
. His head ached, his hands stung like the devil, and his stomach threatened to toss back the few swallows of stew he'd had early that morning. It just didn't seem fair that he had to be so miserable, or that he was now scared half out of his wits. There he was, wallowing in self-pity, while this old bear was trying to blow them all to kingdom come.

             
He couldn't make sense of it. One day, a fellow wanted to die and couldn't buy a hanging, and the
next,
he's out there on a beautiful fall morning dodging buckshot.

             
He winced as his right foot found a sticker bush. He wanted to yell out, both from rage at his precarious situation and because the thorns hurt like hell. The best he could manage was a low grunt and the solemn promise that when he did get his hands on the old goat, he was going to give him a severe throttling.

             
"Come on out here, you water
stealin
,' horse wrangling, son of a rattle snake!"
Biggins
called out. "Be a man once in your stunted life!"

             
Cole crouched now, only a few feet from the would-be assailant. He could see the thick-bellied man more clearly. By his appearance, Lester
Biggins
liked his whisky straight and lots of salt pork and biscuits. He sported an unshaven appearance complete with a dirty white undershirt and tattered drawers that were a couple of sizes too small and held near to bursting by thick, brown suspenders. His hair stood out in silver wisps, barely covering the balding top of his head. He presented a rather ludicrous picture, and if Cole had not been so damned uncomfortable, he might even have laughed out loud. As it was, he held down a moan and walked slowly up behind the disgruntled neighbor.

             
"I'd hold it right there if I were you," Cole said in a low, threatening voice.

             
The man froze, "Who in blazes are you?"

             
Biggins
started to turn around, but Cole gave him a sharp stab with the end of the rifle. The small movement produced intensely sharp pains in both of his hands. Hell, he'd already decided that breathing made his hands hurt, at this point. He bit down on his bottom lip to keep from crying out. The rifle stayed thankfully under his right arm, clutched to his side, and secured between one
arm
over the other. Still, the slightest movement from his adversary would easily dislodge it, and then his only recourse would be to try and outrun a bullet.

             
"Just stay where you are! Don't move, or I'm going to blow a hole in you the size of Montana." As he spoke, Cole felt a tide of dizziness beginning to build in his head. Damn! He needed only a few seconds more to get the man to put the rifle down and get Natalie out here to grab the gun.

             
"Now
lookie
here, Mister, I
ain't
got no argument with you! Them two's the ones I'm after. They've been stealing my fish, helping themselves to water without my permission, and destroying my property. This morning that dimwit came out and put fish guts on my front stoop! His girl in there don't do
nothing
to stop it. I'm damn tired of putting up with the both of them!"

             
"As of last night, that girl is my wife. If you cause her any harm, you'll have to answer to me. From now on, I'll make sure old Dermott steers clear of you. The water and the fish aren't any man's property. I'm not paying you for something that belongs to the land. What I will do is offer to help you keep poachers off your property and split half of what we catch out of that stream with you. Now, what do you say we call it a truce?"

             
"Well, I guess that
ain't
too bad." The other man shrugged.

             
Just then the front door to the cabin burst open. "Don't move, Cole! I got him covered!" Natty shouted the stub nosed pistol in her hand.

             
"No!" Cole shouted, but he was too late.
Biggins
turned around quickly, brushing his hands against the rifle, knocking it sideways.

             
"What in hellfire's going on here?"
Biggins
demanded, raging forward like a wild bull.

             
In the melee, Cole was knocked backwards and trying to roll to avoid his tender hands, tripped on his own tangled feet, and fell face first into the dirt.

             
"
Arghhhh
!" He screamed when his body made impact with the ground. The world tilted around him, and he rolled over to his side. His hands and arms felt as if they'd been set afire. Tears sprang to his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. In those seconds, he only knew horrible pain. Everything else around him disappeared.

             
Seeing the disaster unfold before him, Judge burst into